Code Breakers is actually part three of my Tyzen Pyne trilogy. Funny you should ask about that one, as I've been hard at work on part two
Tyzen meets with Corellan Halcyon years after parts one and two - after the Zakuulan invasion and during the events of Knights of the Fallen Empire.
He sees the decisions of his idol, Corellan. Most notably, he reflects on the fact that Corellan no longer calls himself a Jedi. He considers what that means for himself, and what life he will choose for himself.
Not kidding - There's a good amount of angst. Most Jedi who dealt with the Zakuulan invasion experienced hardship.
But - i like to think it will be a satisfying end to Tyzen's story.
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Could you do something with Hawke and Fenris for DADWC, please? Maybe bundling up before going out in the cold? Thank you!
Fenris x Hawke, short and silly (G) @dadrunkwriting
~
“What are you wearing?” Hawke asked.
With the generously fluffy scarf covering half his face and his shaggy hair always cut so low, Hawke could only really make out Fenris’s dark eyebrows. Nonetheless, they scowled.
“A coat.”
She nodded. She could see that. “That… is some coat. Did you dig it out of the magister’s closet?”
He rolled his eyes. She could not see his eyes, but she knew, in her heart, that Fenris had rolled them at her.
“No.” A pause. “Varric gave it to me.”
It took a lot of effort for Hawke not to burst into laughter at that, and she knew that none would ever appreciate the sheer amount of self-restraint she was showing in keeping a straight face, least of all Fenris.
“And you’re absolutely certain it was a coat and not a bear-skin rug for your floor?” she asked with nary a stray giggle.
“Are we going or not?” he demanded.
“Can you even squeeze through the door with that on?” More importantly, could he even swing a sword in that thing? She couldn’t make out his shape under it. What animal was it made out of? How many animals was it made out of? And Where had Varric gotten it? And why? She had so many questions, and Fenris had already run out of answers for her.
As she scanned him over, incredulity turned to complete mystification when her eyes landed on his implausibly bare feet.
“No,” she said, “Just no.”
“We’re not going?” He sounded distinctly annoyed now, but Hawke had no patience for it.
“Nope. No. Just… no. I refuse to be responsible when you lose a toe.”
“My feet are fine.”
“And they will be better when they are stretched out in front of a fire. I said no. I’m going home. You go ahead and hibernate until spring or something. I’ll call on you when the weather turns fair.”
“Hawke—” he called to her back.
“Nope!” she said without turning around, “Not tonight Fenris!” She closed the door on him and got about six paces before crumpling under the weight of her suppressed laughter. Bare feet! Oh that poor man was in for a rude first winter in Kirkwall.
Spindleweed is the prompt I have been trying to finish for over a year (rip me). It was meant to be something short, about a time where my OC remembered being hurt. But I got carried away. It’s now a longer story about what happened when Ara’lan, the MC in Sule Tael Tasalal is woken from uthenera during a darkspawn invasion. Here’s a little piece of it:
Her body responded slowly but steadily. Equilibrium still a little off, she didn’t want to move too fast. The potion she drank was more helpful than she first realized. She was able to stand without pitching over. Once that was settled she took a hesitant step forward. The cold stones beneath her sensitive feet were hard and strange, but it didn’t hurt. Another step and she was in the center of the room. Another step and she was at the other wall. She could walk. That meant they could leave.
“Mahn ele?” [Where are we?] she asked quietly.
“Duros moran mith anamaos. Min varis ar irothem’ma. Ir abelas, ha’hren. [Lower level by the receiving hall. This was the furthest I could drag you. I’m sorry, elder.]
“Ane rogasha. Unshivas son. Elvy venir vir i’e’lu.” [You are brave. You have done well. We will find our way in secret.]
She knew this room once. It had been kept neat and spotless before she slept. Now there was a fine layer of dust on nearly everything. The herbs she first noticed were, upon closer examination, dried and old. Age and disuse laid over it all and she felt a kinship in her heart. The noises in the hallway spiked with an animalistic growl, washing away any other nostalgic thoughts.
For DADWC, could you do 1 and p, please? Thank you!
Thank you!! I decided to fill this prompt with some Viago de Riva/Teia Cantori interaction, set immediately after the events of the short story “The Wake” by Mary Kirby, which was released today for Dragon Age Day.
A little background, for those unfamiliar with these characters:
Viago de Riva and Andarateia “Teia” Cantori are Talons of the Antivan Crows - i.e. the heads of their respective households. As such, they are both skilled assassins. Viago is known for being a master poisoner, and Teia often takes contracts to assassinate “cruel men.” They worked together in Tevinter during the events of the Deception comic series and we got some wonderful angst between the two of them in “Eight Little Talons,” one of the short stories from Tevinter Nights. I have been pretty obsessed with this ship ever since I read that story. <.<
Read on AO3 || @dadrunkwriting
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Viago quietly closed the door behind him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he could already hear Illario snoring on the other side.
“The first time I see you since we’ve been back in the city, and it’s at a funeral.”
Teia was waiting for him, hands on her hips and her mouth downturned in the slightest hint of a pout. Her hair - her long, thick hair that curled around itself and spilled down across her shoulders and the top of her chest - seemed to glow in the blaze of the candelabra that dimly lit the hallway. With as well as Teia knew the passages of her own casino, Viago had little doubt that she had chosen to position herself in a spot that would provide the most arresting sight when he exited the guestroom.
But Viago had been swayed once already by her charms tonight, and was in no mood to be manipulated a second time.
“The funeral ended hours ago. All this time you’ve had me carrying Illario around could have been time we spent catching up,” Viago said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Hmm,” Teia hummed a chuckle, and Viago felt his pulse quicken at the loveliness of the sound. “Catching up, as you put it, would have been much better than watching you carry Illario halfway across the city - though I did enjoy the sight.”
Viago scowled at that, annoyed all over again by the reminder that Teia merely had to ask and he found himself falling at her feet to accommodate.
“Oh Vi, don’t look so cross.”
She smiled sweetly and offered him the cane she had been carrying for him while his hands were otherwise occupied. He tried to take it from her quickly, but still she managed to sweep her thumb across the knuckles of his gloved hand before he could pull it away.
“What is it you want, Teia?” he asked, both surprised and relieved that his voice sounded more controlled than he felt.
She chuckled again. “I thought that would be obvious.”
“Perhaps I want to hear you say it.”
The smile fled from Teia’s face and Viago held his breath.
“I need you to miss me, Vi. I need to know you’re waiting for our next encounter as eagerly as I am.”
As always, she had unbalanced him. One minute she was all bluster and innuendo; the next she said something so devastatingly vulnerable that it was all he could do to stop himself sweeping her into his arms. Her dark eyes fixed on his with such intensity that, for a moment, he could almost forget the danger that lurked behind them.
But this, he knew, was what Teia Cantori did best.
“I have … missed you,” Viago said quietly, feeling as though she had curled her fingers into his mouth and dragged each word from his throat.
“Well that’s a start, isn’t it? We’ll work on the rest,” Teia said, all of her cheerfulness returned and her penetrating stare fading as she smiled again. “Don’t stay away so long next time.”
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Thanks and love to @pedlimwen and @amata-hawke !! Some straight up reunion smut for @dadrunkwriting 18+
~~~
He was right there, right there—his body so close she could feel its impression in the air between them, like a sheet over carved marble. All that separated them was a whisper and the thin linen of his shirt. His form could have been draped in a cloth, wrapped in a death shroud, for the ache it stirred in her heart. But maybe it was she that was prepared for burial: her body bare and freshly bathed, anointed with oils. Perhaps it was her death shroud between them. He was looking down at her, but her focus was locked on his lips, chapped and slightly parted in want of something unspoken.
"You broke my heart," A mere observation, no anger or condemnation, "Over and over."
Unwittingly wetting his lips, unwittingly bowing to narrow the distance between their faces. She watched his mouth, barely moving to shape the words he spoke.
"I will only break it again if you permit me," Tortured whisper mixed of heartache and need, qualms and temptation....
A warning. An offer.
She sealed the space between them with the press of her body, murmur grazing his lips, "Go on, then."
Met halfway, the kiss was soft but slowly building. It tasted of promises, and promises of broken promises: of grudges and forgiveness; of heartbreak and rage; most intensely, of the one thing she refused to name. Fingertips trailed up her spine, gathering her hair in a tight fist at the base of her skull. His other hand briefly cradled her face before skimming down her arm, finally settling with firm insistence on the small of her back.
The kiss deepened as something shifted. Open mouths gasped the air from each other's lungs, desperate hands clawed and clutched. She had been wandering the desert for years, dying of thirst; he was an ocean of fresh water, committed to consume her. He pulled her under, and she drank him in, happy to drown. He lifted her, laying her out before him on one of the nearby bunks, layered thick with dusts and sticking to the moisture of their skin. She lay without shyness as he took her in, watching his eyes as the fire danced across them.
At last, this long night was theirs alone. He worshiped her with his lips, endless trailing kisses as he shed his clothes. She purred and arched and keened for him, for herself. He dipped his head to taste her, but she dug her nails into his jaw with all the tender restraint she had.
"I have waited years," Low and pleading, "But another moment, and I will die—"
The silent, heartbreaking part of his lips at that, without smug or grin, but eagerness and love. He climbed up to her and cradled her face, a single chaste kiss before holding her gaze in his. Friction without resistance, excruciatingly slow, until finally they rocked together as one. She thought she could cry for the release of it, until the hunger overtook her. Nails into the flesh of his hips, pulling him ever harder into her each time he patiently withdrew.
The sounds of him, needy and satisfied, falling like rain into her hair. She arched up to meet him, undone by his moans. Their rocking became more desperate, this urgent worship. She prayed into the curve of his ear, adoration and whispering his name like something holy. Silent singing, breathless, keening benedictions as her body seized around him. His head thrown back in a low, groaning sob; his climax chasing her own. They held each other like that for some immeasurable time: their own little eternity in this humid heat.
Overgrown is the modern AU that I’m working on. Lavellan is a reporter and Solas is a professor and museum docent. Lavellan’s editors (Cassandra and Leliana) receive a tip about a dig in Orlais that may uncover new information about the "Final Inquisitor," a mysterious figure from the Dragon Age about whom almost nothing is known. There is also a story-within-the-story, a romance novel called Inquisitive Hearts that one of my friends is writing.
Solas is an old friend of Cassandra’s and Cass sends Lavellan to team up with him and report on what’s found. (Spoilers: They do NOT get off to a great start.) The plan is for a bit of enemies to lovers/academic rivals to lovers, some fake dating, and a bunch of my other favorite tropes that I don’t get to use often enough.
The first 6 chapters are up on AO3 and I have a few more in draft at the moment. I’m not sure exactly when the next chapter will go up, but hopefully sometime soon!
📷pedlimwen said: Um, like I’m not gonna ask about DA2.
I started working on filler fic that explained wtf Hawke was doing in the three-year gap between Act 1 and Act 2 of DA2. I never finished it, and if I go back to it, I'll probably just frame it as a thing that happens between acts, not everything that happens between acts (3 years is a long time to fill).
